


your heart taking root in your body

by foxglovebrew



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dealing With S8 By Writing Fluffy Smut: A Fic, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-S6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 10:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxglovebrew/pseuds/foxglovebrew
Summary: He kisses Keith for the first time in the back of the Black Lion, on the way home.





	your heart taking root in your body

He kisses Keith for the first time in the back of the Black Lion, on the way home.

It’s always night in space, and always day— it happens when everybody else is sleeping. Even Krolia in her bunk in the cargo hold, and the cosmic wolf, snuffling quietly at her feet.

The stars run past and wink in Keith’s eyes. He looks stunned, a little confused, like he can’t believe his luck.

It’s sweet. They kiss softly, quietly, and Keith giggles when Shiro shushes him.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” Keith says.

Shiro smiles against his lips. “Yeah, buddy,” he says, and kisses the corner of Keith’s mouth. “That’s how it is.”

*

The universe, unfortunately, doesn’t give them a lot of time to go much further than that.

Keith doesn’t notice until way later—there are a lot of explanations for it, after all. They haven’t really told anyone about them, there’s always someone else in the lion sharing their space, sometimes Shiro isn’t in his lion at all. Shit is getting, for lack of a better word, _real._ They don’t have a lot of time to steal kisses around corners.

Plus, it’s a little awkward to kiss your maybe-boyfriend when your mom and your wolf are all of ten feet away.

It’s a little silly, maybe, to miss the way Shiro used to touch him. When they manage to catch a moment to breathe, Shiro will look at him and smile softly, and bend down to kiss his mouth.

He has Shiro’s mouth—he thought that would be enough.

It was stupid to think so. The space between them is charged now—Keith is hyperaware of exactly how close or how far Shiro is standing. Overanalyzing every touch, watching it from every angle. Was it casual enough? Too casual? Is it obvious, by the way he taps Shiro’s shoulder to get his attention, that he spends all of his free time thinking about Shiro’s hands on his hips, his thighs, his—

Anyway.

It was stupid to think that it could ever be enough. He wants everything. He wants Shiro’s mouth, and his hand on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around him. He wants Shiro to touch him, both casually and with intent. He wants to brush Shiro’s hair out of his eyes and bite at his jaw.

He wants, as always, too much.

*

“Are you okay?”

Shiro looks caught. Deer in headlights. His hair looks like starlight against the black of space visible through the glass of the cockpit.

It’s once again night-that-isn’t-night which means that everyone is sleeping. No one else is in the Black Lion, a minor miracle that had Shiro visibly stiffen. Keith noticed.

It took him a while to notice that it isn’t simply the fact that they haven’t had a chance to touch that has kept Shiro distant. That Shiro seems hesitant whenever his hands linger on Keith.

So maybe Keith engineered things so that now he’s curled up in the pilot seat in his civvies, and he and Shiro can talk.

Sue him.

“I’m just fine,” Shiro says, his fingers drumming against his own thigh. He’s sitting on the ground, by Keith’s seat, back leaning against the side.

Keith’s whole body is leaning out of the chair and angled towards Shiro like he’s sunlight. Shiro smiles up at him, what he clearly means to be a reassuring smile. But Keith learned how to sniff out his bullshit years ago.

He frowns down at Shiro for a long moment, and watches that smile take a distinctly nervous edge.

He slides out of his seat, and Shiro tracks his movements—upright, and walking around to come to kneel in front of Shiro.

Shiro’s knees part a little at that, where he has them propped up. His entire posture opens up to Keith. He sits a little straighter.

Keith goes for a low blow.

“If you’ve changed your mind about us,” he says. “That’s okay.”

The way the words travel through Shiro’s body is startling and immediate. He flinches as if taking a body hit.

“What?” he says. “No! Of course I haven’t.”

The sheer startled indignation in his voice soothes something deep inside Keith that he hadn’t known needed comfort. He knew, rationally, that Shiro probably hadn’t changed his mind. The weeks of fleeting touches, however, apparently dug a deeper groove in his heart than he’d expected.

“Good,” he says, on a reed-thin breath. “Then why are you running from me?”

Shiro’s shoulders sag a little, and suddenly his face looks unsure. Younger. Tired. Keith kind of hates putting that look there, but if it’s what’s necessary for them to move forward, then—

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. His hand comes up to rub at his face. “I can’t explain it. You—” he sighs deeply. “You deserve better than this.”

That’s the stupidest thing Keith’s ever heard.

“No.” He says, and he knows it comes at once too blunt and too pleading. “That’s not—Shiro, that’s not what I mean.”

His hands touch the nearest part of Shiro, which is his knees, and he doesn’t realize he’s parting them to make space for himself until he’s already too close to Shiro’s face.

Shiro’s eyes widen, and Keith feels the blush rising on his face but commits to it.

“It’s okay if you need to go slow,” he says, trying to find the right words. “It’s okay if it’s for you. But Shiro, if you’re holding back for _me_ , or for anyone else, then—” he stumbles there, the heat in his cheeks flaring.

He huffs, and moves closer. Shiro’s hand comes to steady him, and Keith grabs it like a lifeline. Following a reckless, desperate instinct he presses it against his chest. Shiro’s palm is broad, heavy and warm, and even this little—it’s what Keith wanted. What he’d been looking for.

“If you want to touch me,” he says. “You can touch me.”

All the stars are in Shiro’s eyes when he looks up at Keith like that.

There it is.

*

Keith’s pulse is hammering against Shiro’s palm. Fast and relentless and alive—the way he looks down at Shiro breaks his heart a little.

Keith shouldn’t ever have to ask for anything. Not when anything Shiro has is freely given to him.

Not when at all times he can feel a well of affection begging to push past his teeth and call Keith all sorts of saccharine things. _Honey, darling, sweetheart, baby, baby, baby._

It makes his cheeks hot, with longing and not a little embarrassment at his own foolishness.

But Keith is looking down at him like Shiro has done something incredible, and who is he to deny him?

“Come here,” he says. His legs part a little more as he lowers them, making space. Keith takes a quick breath, like a last gasp before diving in, and climbs over his knees.

And then he’s in Shiro’s lap, the heat of his body an overwhelming presence. A pipe dream.

Keith doesn’t kiss him right away. For a moment, Shiro thinks he will—he leans close enough that Shiro feels his breath fan against his mouth. Their noses brush, and Shiro lists helplessly after him, but Keith—Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and buries his face in Shiro’s neck.

It’s one iteration of a hundred hugs they shared, always lingering a little too close. Except this time Keith’s lips skim against Shiro’s jaw, and his body is pressed tight against Shiro’s, hip to heart. This time, Shiro lets his hand run soothingly up and down Keith’s back, then slow up his thigh, and back again.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says. He lets the name slip, calculated, cataloguing the way Keith goes briefly stiff against him—and then melts.

“It’s okay,” Keith says. He’s whispering, even though no one is here to hear them. “But can you tell me why? What’s wrong?”

Shiro sighs deeply, his palm now pressing against the small of Keith’s back. Keith presses a kiss against this jaw—a little less than a kiss, a little more than a firm press of lips.

“I keep second-guessing it,” Shiro says. “I used to find myself touching you without even thinking about it but—everything’s so sharp now. I’m—getting used to it again. And I guess, I’m getting used to having permission to touch you, too.”

He tries to find words for the feeling that soars in his gut when he goes to touch Keith in the most innocent of ways, and how it feels like learning how to love all over again. Like that sharp edge of panic of looking at a boy, and thinking, for the first time— _oh._ Of being hyperaware of every movement of your own body, of every too-lingering hug, of the space between you.

The words don’t come. It’s like learning to become a person again.

Keith pulls back a little, and Shiro can’t help but follow the heat of him as it leaves. He gets caught in Keith’s eyes, and how they look at him.

That particular look of Keith’s hasn’t changed in all the time they’ve known each other—serious and pensive. With the little wrinkle between his brows like Shiro is a particularly tricky flight sim he’s about to ace.

Keith’s hands come to trace Shiro’s jaw so lightly, and it makes his entire body burn.

Keith’s body is the first, Shiro realizes. The first body this body ever touched like this. Maybe it only makes sense that it all feels new.

“You can,” Keith says. He brushes his nose against Shiro’s, a gentle nudge. Playful. His small smile breaks Shiro’s heart. “If you want to.”

Shiro laughs, low and hushed. It’s a little ridiculous.

“If I want to?” Shiro says, and pulls Keith in against his body again. “God, you don’t even know.”

Keith’s smile is all sharp teeth, pressed against Shiro’s mouth. Shiro surrenders to finally being kissed, opening up to Keith’s mouth easy.

It’s soft. Light. A little like their first kiss.

“Oh, yeah?” Keith says, and nips at his lower lip. Cheating. “Show me.”

He doesn’t wait for Shiro to make good on it. He goes up on his knees and swings one of his legs in, so that he’s straddling only one of Shiro’s thighs.

Shiro feels himself flush, desire flaring in his belly. His hand finds Keith’s hip, and pulls him closer without thought.

Keith tilts his head, and Shiro is hopeless against the pale curve of his neck. He presses his mouth there, open and wet, and the sound Keith makes is the best thing in the world.

He still loses his breath with the first thrust of Keith’s hips against his. He pulls back, and the look on Keith’s face is a religious experience.

“Oh, baby,” it comes out, a little hushed, breath hitching on that one word. There seems to be no way to follow it up, no way to explain the things Keith is doing to his heart.

Oh.

Keith’s hips cant forward again, relentless, riding his thigh.

Again. And again. Sending Shiro’s head spinning.

He can only bring his hand back, press it against Keith’s back and pushing back against Keith’s movements, easing his way.

“Just like that,” he whispers. That, and a hundred sweet nothings like it, pressed like kisses against Keith’s neck _._

Soon Keith’s cheeks are flushed pretty red, dark hair sticking to his hairline, his jaw, a curl of it just hooked on the corner of his mouth. Almost obscene. Perfect.

Shiro feels his own mouth part on a gasp when Keith’s hips jerk and his wet lips fall open around a moan. His dick is barely getting touched and here he is—caught in the maddening loop of Keith's pleasure.

“I want to give you _everything_ ,” Shiro says. Breathes out, almost on accident.

Keith’s eyes snap open, widen, and Shiro almost can’t bear the sight of him, flushed and lovely. Shiro knows he must be making a truly ridiculous face, love-drunk and star-struck.

Keith’s fingers, digging into his shoulders, biting nail-marks into his skin, come up to scratch at the back of his head. Shiro feels the bristles rasp under Keith’s fingers, shivers cascading down his spine.

Keith’s chest is heaving, eyes a little wild as he hauls Shiro closer.

“Then why,” he says, a whine curling underneath the words. “Aren’t you touching me?”

Shiro feels a slow smile stretch his mouth before he’s even conscious that he’s smiling. It feels like a miracle to be able to smile like this.

And tease Keith a little.

“Baby, I’m touching you,” he says, and now that he’s let that pet name out, he can’t quit it. Keith’s face is already splotchy red, but his ears flare redder. Shiro’s hand is rubbing a steady up-and-down pattern on Keith’s thigh, thumb tracing the soft inner side. He digs in a little, just to feel Keith’s gasp against his mouth.

“I’m touching you,” Shiro says.

Keith’s eyes are _lightning_ like this—glaring down angrily. Shiro almost wants to beg forgiveness.

(And _that’s_ an interesting thought for another time).

Keith takes his hand, and for the second time tonight guides it where he wants it.

“Not like I want you,” Keith says, Shiro’s hand pressed helplessly against his erection. Then again, like he’s testing the words in his mouth, “I want you.”

Keith wants him, hard and hot against the palm of his hand. Shiro’s breath is fast and shallow. _Keith wants him_.

Shiro practically falls over himself to comply, fingers clumsy on Keith’s fly. Mesmerized by the way Keith watches him do it, biting his lip and doing nothing to restrain a giddy smile.

And then his mouth parts on a gasp again when Shiro wraps a hand around him.

Keith’s cock is perfect in his hand—smooth and a little wet where Shiro thumbs at the soft head. Keith makes a high, half-strangled sound in his throat, and his hips hitch. One of his hands is digging half moons into Shiro’s shoulder, the other holding onto the back of Shiro’s neck. Holding on as he thrust forward and into Shiro’s hand.

“You—you too,” Keith says. His voice is so sweet like this, half-broken and hoarse. His hands come down to paw in elegantly at Shiro’s trousers.

The way he’s frowning down in the general direction of Shiro’s dick would be funny if it weren’t so accidentally hot. If his knuckles brushing against Shiro’s erection didn’t make him gasp and tighten his hold on an upstroke.

Keith gasps in kind, his pleasure responding to Shiro’s pleasure. He is so beautiful like this, his brow furrowed, focused, taking Shiro in hand. Careful. Not hesitant.

Shiro is, suddenly, already missing this moment before it’s even ended. Like he knows the universe is just waiting, right outside the cockpit where they hang onto each other and pant into each other’s mouths. Knowing that they may not get time to do this again for a while.

_Please_. Keith’s fingers wrapping around his cock and sending sparks running down his spine. The serious, earnest look in his eye, the sweet frown of concentration curling his mouth. _Please, just let me keep him a little longer._

He kisses Keith again, nips at his red lower lip and sweeps his tongue inside when Keith opens up to him. His mouth and his thighs, opening up to Shiro, pressing up against him.

He drinks in every little gasp and moan as Keith nears his climax, and then tumbles over the edge with a sharp cry, hot and wet over Shiro’s fingers.

He trembles in Shiro’s arms. His eyes half-lidded, a dark swoop of lashes against his cheek. Shiro’s body feels like it’s on fire, every inch of him straining closer, his own orgasm almost an afterthought.

But it does come—washing through his entire body, making his hand clench where he’s holding Keith’s hip, his mouth falling silently open against the little kisses Keith’s pressing to his slack mouth. It’s his turn to shake in Keith’s arms.

He closes his eyes in the aftermath of it, feeling Keith’s kisses on his cheek, his cupid’s bow, the side of his nose, each of his eyelids.

Shiro goes to wipe his hand on his jeans, and he’s immediately caught by Keith.

“We only have two sets of clothing each,” Keith says. He sounds put out, but when Shiro finally opens his eyes he’s barely restraining a smile. “You’re _not_ getting come on one of them.”

Shiro sighs deeply. “Whatever you say, baby.”

Keith squirms a little in Shiro’s lap, and then his cold nose comes searching, pressing against Shiro’s cheek. His mouth is warm against Shiro’s jaw, biting down gently.

“You gotta talk to me, okay?” Keith says, softly, very close to Shiro’s ear. “That’s how this works.”

Shiro nods, and gets his arm around Keith’s waist and pulls him in. He breathes in the warmth and pressure of Keith’s body against his.

“I promise.”

Shiro knows he’s still smiling a little dopily, but he just can’t help it. When he opens his eyes, Keith is right there. He always wants to open his eyes and find Keith right there.

Maybe there’s a reality where that’s his every morning. He hopes it’s this reality.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been kicking around in my drafts since I wrote _exhale_. It was canon-compliant at the time.
> 
> In the wake of S8 I thought we all needed some uncomplicated fluff again. This hit me a lot harder than I thought it would. Like most of you, probably, I was hurt, disappointed, and confused. Don't get me wrong, there was a lot about this season that I liked, and I still treasure everything I've felt during the show's collective run. But I also can't ignore my feelings. It's not healthy. 
> 
> I thought it would be healthier to deal with them by doing the thing that I love. So I finished this up and here it is.
> 
> Stay strong. I don't know about you, but I've been in fandom since my early teens and we've never needed to be Canon to have a good time. It's just time to remember where we came from, and to keep telling our stories in spite of what anyone says.
> 
> In less somber news, I wrote a Big Sheith Thing during NaNoWriMo and hope to post soon. If you like werewolves, watch this space.
> 
> If you want to support it, reblog this fic [on tumblr](https://foxglovebrew.tumblr.com/post/181135133021/your-heart-taking-root-in-your-body-sheith).


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